


Mære

by Jetlagden



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [5]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:15:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3096185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetlagden/pseuds/Jetlagden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oneiriad asked: "Athelstan waking from a nightmare and Ragnar comforting him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mære

**Author's Note:**

> So. I'm not entirely happy about the end, it feels really rushed, but i had to leave so well. Maybe I'll come around and edit it some day. I think there are a few Trigger Warnings that apply: Torture, nightmares, violence, blood, unreality (?), and a very tiny referenced selfharm one, maybe, if you squint. If I missed any, please let me know so I can add them! I hope you enjoy it, despite it being a little rubbish.
> 
> Comments are very welcome!

It had been three winters since the late King Horik and his leftover men had abandoned Athelstan back in Wessex. Scars had faded, memories had been pushed back, new ones had been made… But for Athelstan, the memories of what had happened after he’d been captured, often came back as livid as if it had happened yesterday. He tried to keep it to himself, not wanting to bother anyone with it. Not Lagertha, not Björn, not Torstein, not even the Seer. Why would he need to see the Seer anyway? He knew what his dreams meant, he knew very well where they came from. 

Three years later, Athelstan had found out that, though his scars weren’t red and screaming anymore, his muscle, his bone, often did scream in agony. It was worst in the areas of his hands- especially his right one- and his feet. Sometimes his knees would refuse as well. But he could deal with the physical reminders, the aches would pass, the herbs he used helped. He barely worked with an axe anymore, instead had taken to be a farmer. He missed the raiding, but well, going back to England… He wasn’t ready, not yet. He had heard of the ideas to maybe go to the south, to other countries, but well. For now, Athelstan was pretty done with raiding anyway. He just liked tending to his animals, his crops… He had someone who helped him with the really hard work, a young boy who had lost part of his sight in a fire when he was only four. Athelstan often treated the boy like he was his son.  
However, every week he at least spend three nights at Ragnar’s, after a feast, and when he was too tired to return to his farm. The other nights he spend alone, the boy returning to his family before dinner.

Tonight was one of the nights he spend at Ragnar’s. Athelstan might or might not have had a drink or two too many, and he had collapsed against Torstein, who, well, had collapsed on the floor, not exactly sober himself either. The fall had send them both into a fit of giggles and laughter, though it had also rather hurt Athelstan’s legs, which hadn’t felt too good that day to begin with. He was seriously thinking of asking Floki to make him a  cane, but for now, Athelstan was way more content being picked up from the floor by Ragnar. The former monk grinned up at his former master, trying to form words, which came out more like a incoherrent babble. Ragnar shook his head, pushing Torstein back on the floor, as he dragged Athelstan away from the feast, to the calmer livingarea behind the Great Hall.

'Ragnar,' Athelstan muttered, as Ragnar put him down into his son's bed, knowing Björn wouldn't be there anyway, if the looks he'd been receiving indicated anything. 'Athelstan,' Ragnar dryly responded, 'Go to bed, you're wasted. I'll put some water next to your bed. Now, rest, before you hurt yourself again.' He ruffled Athelstan's hair affectionatly, as the other pouted like a child. He turned around though, lying on his side, feeling a deep sleep dawning on him soon enough. Ragnar left the room when Athelstan was asleep, wanting to make sure he was fine.

_Pain. It was the first thing Athelstan registered when he opened his eyes. Something was tugging on his hands, pulling on his wrists, tearing at his hands. And what was that sticky sensation dripping from his hairline? He blinked, getting some of it in his eye. He wanted to wipe it away, but he couldn’t. His hands were stuck, so stuck, and why was it so dark? That was new. Usually, it wasn’t so dark. Just when his eyes started to get used to the dark, a blinding flash came from underneith him. He looked down, seeing the sticky stuff- blood?- fall down, to his feet, his broken feet, as he hang there, a few feet in the air. It was cold, colder than usual as well… He was used to dreaming about the  cross, so why was this so different? Was he… Where was he? Was this hell? It certainly wasn’t heaven… He let out a cough, a deep, rusty cough, sounding like he hadn’t produced a sound in days, days. The light from below kept shining, brighter and brighter until Athelstan had to close his eyes. It was hot as well. It burned his frozen toes, it burned his body until there was no flesh on it, until it was just bone, and he screamed. He screamed, and screamed, and when the pain became too much to bear, he opened his eyes, only to stare straight into the face of the devil, of a monster, a monster with a burning tongue and a crown, a crown made of bones, dressed in raw meat that did not look like the meat of a pig, nor cow or goat. Athelstan screamed louder, as the light reached his chest, and crawled higher and highere as the monster came closer, chanting his name, over and over and-_

'Athelstan! Athelstan!' Athelstan lurged upwards, jumping at whoever it was that was shouting at him, surely it must be the devil, and heah d to make it stop, or he'd burn to bone and he'd- He was pushed back forcefully, by cold hands, nothing like the heat that had come from the devilish monster. He realised his eyes were still shut, and he forced to open them. He found himself panting, lying on his back, Ragnar holding him down. Athelstan just stared at his savior, who stared right back, before slapping him right across the face. Athelstan let out a cry of pain, struggling against Ragnar's grip, wanting him to let go already. He was hurting his already sore wrists, that were now tingling as well, tingling with the need to do _something_ about it. ‘What was that for?’ Athelstan managed to bring out, voice hoarse. Ragnar sighed, and sat back.

'I had to make sure you were awake,' the King said, 'You were screaming. What.. Did you dream of something?' Athelstan sank back into his furs, letting out a deep shaky breath as he tried to gather his breathing. The memories of what had occured in his dream started to form in front of his eyes again, despite them being wide open. 'Y-yeah,' he brought out, shutting his eyes to try and make the images go away, 'Yeah, something.. Bad… I….' He blindly reached out for Ragnar, with one, shaking hand. Ragnar immediatly took it, having been over this ritual before. He carefully rubbed the areas most sensitive, avoiding the scar in the middle of his hand. He gently massaged Athelstan's colloused hands, until the other's breathing had calmed. He made eyecontact with Athelstan, who just looked ath im pleadingly. 'I…' he began, 'I don't… I don't know if I can sleep again.' _On my own_ , the silence added. Ragnar understood. He gave a nod, and pushed Athelstan over. ‘Okay,’ he simply said, knowing his wife would understand, ‘Scoot over then. Your bed is small.’ Athelstan let out a sigh of relief, and made some room for Ragnar, tension slowly leaking from his body as itw as held by two strong arms.

'Thank you,' Athelstan muttered, as he buried his face against Ragnar's tunic, who didn't reply, and instead just dropped a single kiss to the still slightly shaken warrior- because that was what Athelstan still was, despite not picking up an axe or sword every weekend anymore. A warrior, and that was what he'd always be, in Ragnar's book, even if he had night mares he wouldn't talk about, and he muttered against the clear sky or couldn't walk of pain some days.

Athelstan didn’t dream of pain, cold, light, bones, devils and heat anymore that night. Quite the opposite, really...


End file.
